


Unprodigal Son

by Giglet



Category: The Sting (1973)
Genre: 1000-3000 words, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-05
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giglet/pseuds/Giglet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unprodigal Son

Henry folded the letter, put it down on the bar, and thought about it while he sipped his bourbon. He didn't much care for bourbon, but when he'd paid off the most recent bunco cop, the man had mentioned that Henry's description included his usual drinks. Henry couldn't change his face and he wasn't about to change his profession or his hat. But at least he could change what he drank in public. So in New York, he drank martinis; in Kansas City, he drank Scotch. This was Philadelphia, so he was drinking bourbon. On trains it didn't matter as long as it was something mixed.

He scowled at the shot glass. Bourbon was yet another gift from that squealing kid in Florida, along with the Federal warrant. It wasn't in his nature to be vindictive, but the best thing he could say about her was that she sang on key most the time. That woman had brought more heat down on him than he'd had to deal with since the War, when his officer kept giving him orders that would get him killed. Surviving this trouble was a little less strenuous, but a lot more prolonged. He wasn't as young as he had been, and he was tired.

He'd been tired when he wrote to Billie, letting her know the score as soon as he reached Philadelphia. He had not written, "I miss my gang. I'm getting a crick in my neck from looking over my shoulder. I feel old," although he felt all of that when he posted it.

Just three days later, he had her reply. It was written on a single sheet of cheap paper with a faint scent of lilac that even the booze and smoke in the bar couldn't drown out. (He was the first one to give her lilac-scented talcum powder, back when they were just kids. She used it all the time now.) Her letter didn't say much, just that she had a spare room at her place. She didn't write, "Come home, Henry."

But that's what she meant.  
\---------------------

It took him three days to swallow his pride long enough to buy a train ticket to Chicago. One more to decide on a gift. He couldn't bear to show up empty-handed, but Billie was tough to buy for. They knew each other too well. And times were rough all around, but she was doing okay for herself: she was semi-legit now, with the nice steady income that came with running a whorehouse on the North Side.

He spent half the day sitting and thinking about what to get her, and the other half shopping. He didn't have the cash or energy to get her the sort of jewelry she liked, and she didn't drink except for show. Flowers were a stupid john's gift, and besides, they made her sneeze. So did perfume except for that lilac stuff and she enjoyed buying that for herself.

When they'd been a lot younger, she'd explained the old-time rules of upperclass women accepting gifts from men. Evening gloves would have been perfect, even if she never wore them, but the ones he could find weren't right for her. He couldn't get her clothes, because that suggested he was trying to own her. Except that was ridiculous when he was showing up like an old stray on her doorstep.

To hell with it: he bought her a dress she could wear for work. Once he'd decided, it was easy enough. He knew her size, and he knew what colors looked good on her. He chose a pinkish color that he hated. And that she knew that he hated.

That should be clear enough.

As the clerk was boxing up the gown, Henry thought about that. Sometimes their shared history made things complicated, but that was okay. He grinned, some of those old times had been great. Like when they were teenagers: he had just started with JT and it felt like the whole world was opening up for him. And the Baroness was busy transforming Billie from a street urchin into a swan. The first time he'd seen her in pearls and an evening gown, he'd dropped the trunk he was carrying. It had broken his foot, but he hadn't even felt the pain until she was out of sight. He was sixteen.

He'd been crazy about her back then, and everyone had known it. Looking back, Henry could see how JT and the Baroness had set the two of them up. That one glimpse of Billie was all he got for two years. Two years while JT shaped up his manners and worked him like a dog in Atlanta, Richmond, Tampa. Two years while the Baroness took her to California and taught her whatever it was that she taught her. Two years, driven by the spur of making the other one proud. Two years when they wrote to each other when they could, and Henry learned the difference between treating a woman like a lady and treating her like a mark. Not that JT ever let him play for a woman, but JT talked about how to do it right, if he had to. (Once JT caught him looking at men, he'd also had some things to say about the difference between selling a tale and selling his body.)

During the war, Billie had sent him warm knitted socks. He was pretty sure she didn't knit, but she claimed to have made them for him. The claim was as good as truth -- better in some ways.   
\---------------

He was still thinking about their old times as he unpacked his case in Billie's spare room. It was nice: there was an icebox and a bathroom and it was away from the girls' rooms. He'd be in charge of the carousel and he knew damn all about it worked, but Billie had faith that being a man meant he could handle anything that involved grease and gears.

Billie had been as classy as ever when he showed up. She was dressed even though it was barely noon, and there was a meal ready. She'd kissed his cheek and thanked him for the dress and she hadn't poked about where he'd been for the last year. He knew he looked worn out, but she didn't say a word about it.

She was looking good. JT and the Baroness had maybe expected him and Billie to get married once she'd gotten too old to play the virtuous maiden. (It didn't make so much difference for him, but marriage was important for a woman. So JT said.) Didn't work out that way, but they were friends. He hadn't even slept with her until nearly a decade after he first wanted to. It had been good, but he had his work and she had hers, and it was a pleasure for when their paths crossed rather than any sort of partnership. And maybe it would be a pleasure again. He couldn't suggest it, though, not showing up like this.

He filled the basin and shaved anyway.

He'd just finished when a knock came on the door. And there was Billie in a housecoat, smiling up at him and slipping off his suspenders. He shut the door behind her and took off his hat. Then he took her in his arms and into his bed. It was a pleasure and a comfort and she'd stayed all night.

\--------------

This was Billie's show, so Henry fit himself in with the bouncers and the bartender, Danny. If you looked at it one way, Henry was the madam's kept man. That didn't bother Henry, particularly, although Danny seemed sour about it. What did gall Henry a little was taking orders from her -- he was lousy at taking orders from anyone except maybe JT -- but he did it. And he checked with her the first time, before he bedded any of the girls. She didn't mind as long as it was off-hours. Jealousy had never been a part of their relationship, JT and the Baroness had made sure of that.

So now she showed up at night or she didn't, and they had that little bit of comfort between them. And he rested up enough that he was ready for a big con by the time Johnny Hooker landed at his door.

Billie didn't care much one way or the other about Hooker, but Henry did. Johnny was a man, with a man's body, but also the enthusiasm and innocence of a boy. He learned fast as lightning. He had plenty of energy and an inclination to smile. Henry told Hooker that he could do a lot worse than keep his nose clean and work for Billie, and he'd meant it. But he'd healed by then, enough to think about doing better. And when Henry looked at Hooker, he saw a future he wanted.

He tried to make it sweet for Billie on their last evening together. But afterwards he sat up smoking deep into the night. She maybe deserved better, but he couldn't stop thinking about Hooker and worrying about the con.

"Leave off, Henry," she muttered from next to him. "You've done everything you could."

He had, but that didn't stop him fretting. He'd done everything he could do to keep Hooker safe, everything he could do to keep Lonnegan's con after the sting, and everything he could do to pay his debts to Billie. Assuming the sting came off, she'd be getting his share as well as her own. If it didn't come off, chances were that he'd be dead or running for his life. He'd leave town right after the sting anyway, before people started to talk about it.

Billie knew, of course. The next morning, when she came down to walk with him over to the store, she plunked his hat on his head. He grinned at her. Even with the nerves, she could always get a smile out of him if she wanted it. As he held the door for her, he took one last look around the place. He wouldn't particularly miss it, but he'd miss her.


End file.
